Here I stand, a fifties cook,
Double-boiling all my veg:
Somewhere in the Reaper’s Book
Another life is on the edge –
Now my family is at peace
Because I shunned the virgin grease.
Here’s a carrot, here’s a spud,
Let them wallow in the water:
Now I’ve stunned my son’s young blood,
Now I’ve killed my precious daughter –
Underneath the boneyard soil:
Ever heard of Virgin Oil?
My leek dissolves, my spinach wilts,
All my guests have upped and died,
There’s no imagining my guilt –
If only all my greens were fried!
Their ghosts express dissatisfaction
That I ignored phenolic fraction.
An era later, chopping swede
Or bulbous marrow for their plate,
I’m ready to assuage their greed
With Extra Virgin by the crate.
As Death recedes, I give a look.
BASTARDS! BLOODY LEARN TO COOK!
Click here for a Telegraph article